Share this:

There is a distance of separation between being injured and being healthy when it comes to enjoying life.

I am currently swimming around in the injured section of the pool.

I am also unemployed.

Unemployed and injured has a tensing pucker factor of 8.5 to the casual observer.

But it feels worse.

Mainly because one of my tension release methods is judo.

I have been doing it more than a year, so I am still a beginner.

But, with a pretty decently sprained ankle, I can’t even do that.

And I am still unemployed.

Being unemployed is like there being a continual fart in the room.

You can’t ignore it, and, although you try your best to put the stench in the back of your head, it never completely goes away.

The unemployment issue looks like it will be solved shortly.

I am not afraid that I won’t find another job.

I have been working since I was 10 years old, and I was looking for a job when I found my last one.

Its my irrational fear of the unknown that is the issue.

Fear of the unknown takes the absolute certainty I have that I will find a new job soon and convinces me that I will be a homeless crackhead inside of 6 months, performing sex act in alleys to get my next fix.

It lies to me, it says things only an adult child would understand, it convinces me that my sprain is actually a hideous break and I will never actually fight in a Judo tournament. (This is one of my goals. Went to a tournament today and practically shit myself with excitement. I HAVE to do this.)

So, I have to land a job soon, before I go stir crazy, and then I need to resist the urge to push my ankle to go back to Judo before it is healed.

And I have never been good at waiting.

On the other hand, I am seriously becoming a badass superhero on the online game I am playing during my off moments, of which I have a whole lot of right now.

The fun of playing even the best, most addictive MMO online is balanced out by the voice of responsibility in the back of my head, continually telling me what a waste of time it is.

Despite the ridiculous hype Oprah wants to spout, it really is a hard job.

At least, it CAN be a hard job.

It can also be one that is not taken seriously.

Depends on the mom.

Getting the job is easy enough.

Lay prone…your Hired!

And there are also those who bust their ass and spend a lot of time trying to get the job.

They are the ones who tend to take it serious.

Here is why its just called life instead of a job.

Nobody hired you, there are no consistent standards, and its really hard to get fired.

Plus, if it were REALLY hard? Not everyone who could lay prone would do it.

If it required a college education, more than half the population would be shit out of luck.

Me? I got lucky.

My mom, as I have mentioned before, is a force of nature.

The kind of mom they should all be.

I also married well.

My ex, despite our differences, is a really good mother.

My kids are awesome.

That is the true way of judging how good a job you did.

Kids make their own decisions, true.

But the thought process they have is the one they are given.

My parents sent me out into the world with a thought process that borders on omnipotent.

Humble was never mentioned.

I always wonder what was wrong with the parents when I meet someone who is unable to apply logic or basic commonsense to their life.

And when they don’t, I am usually the only one who notices.

And like an ass, I blog about it.

This blog started out to be all about happenings in a Starbucks near my work, and has morphed over the years into being a tell all of either my opinions about people, usually when they are behaving badly.

In a nutshell, low-end bitching and whining.

And I am ok with that.

However, the best thing about writing this blog is that I get to be an unholy tyrant and write only what I feel like, no matter how twitchy the subject.

Back to Mother’s Day.

I am not sure how the hell my mom raised my brother’s and me without killing one of us or one of us ending up in prison.

Maybe thats the true secret to being a successful mother, to not just raise a kid, but to raise a kid that can take care of himself and stand on his own two feet. (Without the prison part.)

And then there is the other side of mothering.

Using the process of elimination, somewhere out there is the world’s worst mother.

And someone just gave her a card and maybe some flowers.

Its not a question of being good at it, maybe its just a question of doing it, surviving the act of being pregnant, giving birth, and then raising your kidlets until they leave the nest.

So to all the mothers out there, good luck and nice job, good or bad.

Much like surviving a war, it has probably left you with some baggage and maybe some scars.